


How Do You Know When It’s Too Much? (That’s The Question Innit)

by nic_takes_Ls (nic_L)



Category: DreamSMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (not Tommy's and it's not obvious dw), A spinny chair, Discord - Freeform, Gen, Get off the pile and breathe, Good 'Brother' Wilbur Soot, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Implied/Referenced Depression, Referenced Self-Destructive Behaviour, Three convos stacked in a trench coat and pretending to be a fic, Throw your stupid rocks into the pond, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), WTF, actually betaed, and Wilby, and fucking cheat, fanta, featuring:, now:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nic_L/pseuds/nic_takes_Ls
Summary: Tommy lets his breath stutter in his throat before choking out a small half-whisper.“Wilbur, how do I know when it’s too much before it is?”Wilbur gives a quiet laugh, warm and soft and suddenly Tommy feels so small.“That’s the question, innit."
Relationships: TommyInnit & Dream, TommyInnit & Technoblade, TommyInnit & TimeDeo, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 42
Kudos: 477
Collections: Completed stories I've read, the writer's block's Secret Santa





	How Do You Know When It’s Too Much? (That’s The Question Innit)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qar/gifts).



> Beta Read by like_theletter and dullrockets
> 
> <3
> 
> Gifted to qar for Secret Santa!!
> 
> :D

TommyInnit is not suicidal. He is not depressed, or lonely, or angry at the world or the people in it. He does not want to bleed himself dry or bleed out another, and he does not want to fall in searing magma or walk into the ocean and let his breath seep out like a sigh. _That_ is an act, a character. 

He does not want to die.

However, he is not acting a while later when he stares blankly at his monitor, faint green light casting over the planes of his face, mind gone white with a question, he is not acting as he asks;  
  
  
“Guys, how do you know when it’s too much?”   
  
  
There is silence and then a huff of awkward laughter in his headphones. Tommy blinks twice and chokes out a laughing wince, snaps back to attention and his monitor. His cheeks warm with embarrassment, and he asks the question again.

  
  
“No, really, how do you know when it’s too much?” This time his voice is ever-so-slightly exaggerated, syllables rolled over like the pages of a script. On cue, Sapnap moves on incredibly obviously and the bit is over, cameras cut and film wrapped.   
  
  
Eventually the show ends and Tommy gives a solemn in-character goodbye to the stream, and his mouse makes a quiet click as he ends. There’s a rustle from assumedly Wilbur’s mic and then Dream and Sapnap each say a ‘talk to you later’ and it’s quiet.   
  
  
Tommy can feel the tense silence stretching in the voice call, the small sounds from Wilbur’s absent shifting and keys of his keyboard clicking. He opens his mouth to speak but Wilbur’s warm but knowing voice beats him to it.   
  
  
“What’s too much, Tommy?”   
  
  
Tommy holds his breath. Clicks back to Discord, where Wilbur’s started streaming his camera. He’s pixelated and grainy on there, face washed in white light and not looking into the camera, thankfully. His curly bangs are flopping into his eyes and he’s at his home computer. The silence stretches further and Wilbur glances at the camera. Tommy’s heart stutters and he sighs.   
  
  
“Nothing, a bit gone wrong, I guess.” His smile is strained, he feels but he leans back in his chair and away from Wilbur’s prying gaze.   
  
  
“Right.” Wilbur says after a moment. He goes back to clicking away at his computer and Tommy wants to scream. He’s not sure whether it's from relief or not. “I’m going to just be editing for a while, if you change your mind.”   
  
  
“I’m gonna get a Fanta, big man. All out of Cokes,” Tommy brushes off and tugs his headphones from his ears, the real world back in focus and his footsteps loud as he slides off his chair and makes his way down the hall and to the kitchen.   
  
  
He grabs a bitter-cold can from the fridge, wincing and using the edge of his shirt to hold it before closing the fridge door with his hip. Tommy’s walk back to his room feels oddly long, and his head is a blur of adrenaline and thoughts and worry. If he had to put a picture to it, he’d say his mind was one of those dumb sorting algorithm videos Wilbur likes.   
  
  
You know. A rhythmless, rhymeless cacophony. Blips and beeps and shit. Tommy hates those things.   
  
  
Before he knows it, he’s back at his desk, headphones on his head and the can of Fanta is dripping condensation down his arms. Tommy swipes the side of the can with his sleeve and opens it, the absent sounds of Wilbur puttering around his computer crackling into his ears.   
  
  
He takes a sip and coughs twice, tears springing to his eyes and blurring his vision as he unmutes. He’s out of Cokes, and that’s the only reason he’s even considering drinking this.   
  
  
“Wilbur?”   
  
  
Wilbur’s eyes flit up from his own monitor and his gaze snaps to the camera. The quality of the screen drops and Tommy wants to snort at the sudden lag in Wilbur’s movements.   
  
  
He doesn’t feel like laughing though.   
  
  
“Yes, Tommy?”   
  
  
Wilbur prods.   
  
  
Tommy lets his breath stutter in his throat before choking out a small half-whisper.   
  
  
“How do you know when- when it’s too much?”   
  
  
Wilbur blinks calmly back at him from the screen.   
  
  
“When what’s too much?”   
  
  
Tommy hesitates.   
  
  
“When- Everything.”   
  
  
His chest feels a bit akin to a void, empty and looming. Wilbur’s stream clears and Tommy can watch his face soften.   
  
  
Tommy stutters and tries to explain the sick sticky feeling of dread that’s been lurking in his chest for months, that weight that appears when he forgets about it most.   
  
  
“I- I mean that- Well, content creators- They get overwhelmed right? I-”   
  
  
Tommy blinks suddenly and sighs.

  
  
“Adults- Adults get overwhelmed. There’s always a ‘too much’, isn’t there? I don’t want to end up randomly ghosting all my friends, or disappearing from the internet without a trace. What if I wake up and don’t enjoy doing anything I’d used to? What if I get up one morning and never want to stream again? What- What if I wake up and hate my life? Wilbur, how do I know when it’s too much before it is?”   
  
  
The last question is delivered nearly out of breath, and Tommy stares at the Fanta can dripping onto the table, shoulders raised and arms tense.   
  
  
Wilbur gives a quiet laugh, warm and soft and suddenly Tommy feels so small.   
  
“That’s the question, innit. A really hard question. Tommy- I’m not laughing at you, Tommy, it’s just- Tommy, you’re never going to wake up and all of a sudden hate your life. I promise. I can promise you that.”   
  
  
Wilbur’s voice is gentle and melodic, dropping into near whispers and soothing as his songs. He’s not looking at his camera and Tommy is so relieved.   
  
  
“Why. How do you know that?”   
  
  
Tommy retorts in a monotone.   
  
  
“Because- You’ll know if you hate your life. It piles on and you know it’s there and just stacks until you sit up and finally do something to get it off your chest. Do you hate your life?”   
  
  
“I don’t- No.”   
  
  
Wilbur smiles at the webcam and turns back to his own monitor just as fast. Continues talking.   
  
  
“If you decide you don’t enjoy any of your hobbies anymore, there’s going to be new ones. If you wake up and never want to stream again I’ll still let you be a mod in my chat. And then I’ll help you find out what to do next.”   
  
  
Tommy’s chest is clenching and his hands tremble, only slightly, before he wraps them around the cold wet metal of his drink. He holds it to his chest and then places it back on the table.   
  
  
“How do _you_ know?”   
  
  
Wilbur leans back in his chair, earbud cords strained. His mouth takes on a slight frown, his usual thinking face.   
  
  
“You want me to tell you when _I_ found it all too much?”   
  
  
Tommy doesn’t speak, only nods jerkily once. His fingers twitch as he clutches them with the other hand.   
  
  
Wilbur sighs before meeting Tommy’s gaze through their screens.   
  
  
“Alright then.”   
  
  
Tommy clenches the still-full Fanta can in his hands, turns Wilbur’s mic up in Discord. Listens as Wilbur takes a hitching breath and begins to speak.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“Uh, I’m very glad you waited to ask me this off-stream.”   
  
  
Techno’s American accented words are tinged with a hint of awkward laughter, and Tommy doesn’t give in to the overwhelming urge to laugh it off.   
  
  
“You don’t have to answer, Wilbur just said to ask other people, y’know, and I thought you-”   
  
  
Techno makes a tut over the voice call and Tommy cuts himself off.   
  
  
“I don’t mind. Give me a moment to think. Remember how to talk.”   
  
  
“Right.”   
  
  
Tommy tugs his phone closer to him from its position on the edge of his desk. His headphones are abandoned for the earbuds plugged into his phone, the quality of both his and Techno’s voices tinny and condensed. His window streams beams of sunlight from the blinds onto his floor, falling on his arms and warming them.   
  
  
Techno’s end has more clicking noises, wordless, and the tautness in Tommy’s shoulders has him picking up the phone and dropping it in his lap before kicking off with his feet and letting his chair spin smoothly. His throat is clenching and his hands grip his phone a little too tightly, but he waits.   
  
  
Tommy’s closed his eyes by the time Techno abruptly begins to speak.   
  
  
“Tommy, as you’ve probably noticed, I upload very little.”   
  
  
Tommy’s eyes flit open and he presses his socked toes into the floor, stopping his chair.   
  
  
“I- Uh, I know, Techno-”   
  
  
“Nope, it’s relevant. Now a very long time ago- last year- I was still going to college. I only upload like two videos a month. I’d stream like- once in a blue moon, if it weren’t for Dream SMP.”   
  
  
Tommy kicks off with his feet again and stares at the swirling shape of his popcorn ceiling. His stomach swirls with it.   
  
  
“Yeah?”   
  
  
He ignores his voice nearly cracking- It was fine.   
  
  
“Yes. Now, what does that have to do with your question?”

Tommy almost gets a word out before-

“That was a rhetorical question, now stop talking, I’m monologuing. That’s my secret: I literally don’t let things become too much.”

Techno’s mic stutters as he assumedly drags it closer, and he takes a deep breath in an over-dramatic tone. Tommy lets his eyes close and one earbud slip out of his ear.

“Too much feels like choking. Like your plans and to-dos fill up your lungs, you can’t breathe. I’m not good at keeping track of things, like time or trying to focus on something I don’t want to focus on. And I used to- you know. Not be able to actually do things I wanted when I was still trying to do college, or stream on a schedule, or make videos in a normal timely fashion. It sucked. I procrastinated everything and got less things done than when I didn’t force myself to. I wasn’t- I wasn’t super happy, and ended up kinda forcing myself into a self-isolated state. Felt like I couldn’t breathe. So there was a pretty sucky spot there. And I was kinda stuck, until I quit college. But before then I would start to do something and end up thinking about what I wanted to do.

“I quit college, though, I mean, I was making enough money to and didn’t plan to have a future with English anymore, and just started playing Minecraft when I wanted to. I streamed events and that was pretty much it. I didn’t force myself to stream at whatever time, I made videos when I had content, and I live my life based around- Me. I could breathe again. The air’s thicker when you’re not on a pile of things you’re stressed about.”

Tommy stills his spinning chair once more and holds the earbud mic to his mouth.

“So- So-”

“So make things easier for yourself, idiot.” Techno summarizes. “Advice from the Blade right there. Get off the pile. Stop giving yourself things to worry about. After all, the greatest victory is the one which requires no battle.”

Tommy blinks at the abrupt statement.

“Okay, so that line was from Sun Tzu, but-”

Tommy breaks into a laugh, his chest feeling as though the heaviest weight’s been lifted by the simple statement, and eventually tears spring to his eyes and he smiles shakily at his phone’s glowing surface.

“So- I guess that is how you know when it’s too much. And how to not get there. Breathe.”

Technoblade’s voice is unusually warm and Tommy knows it’s sincere.

“I- Thanks, Techno.”

He sighs and tilts his head back on the headrest. Outstretches one hand and dips his fingers in the cast sunlight.

“Thanks.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“Uh- When it’s all too much?” Dream asks through Tommy’s headphones.  
  
  
“Yeah.” He confirms and punches Dream’s player repeatedly with a click of his mouse.   
  
  
“Okay, well- Wait, shouldn’t you- don’t you think you should ask Wilbur this? Tommy?” Dream’s character doesn’t move and he sounds oddly nervous- When Tommy is the one whose stomach is churning.  
  
  
“I did. He told me that I should ask more than one person. Adults I trust.” Tommy looks away from his monitor and scrubs his hand through his hair as his last sentence is mumbled. He shifts his gaze from the wall to the lamp beside him, casting a yellow hue over the dark room.   
  
  
“Oh. Me? I’m an adult you trust?”   
  
  
Tommy bites his lip and leans into the mic. “Sure. Yes.” Resumes making his Minecraft player circle Dream’s and hits him with a piece of steak.  
  
  
“Thanks for being comfortable enough to come to me, Tommy.” Dream’s voice is entirely sincere and it makes Tommy swallow and kill him in-game with a sword. He types an ‘L’ in chat.  
  
  
“Okay.”   
  
  
Dream sighs, quieter and likely leaning away from his mic, before respawning in their shared game.   
  
  
“I think- I think that ‘too much’ is when there’s- a lot, you know? A lot of problems, a lot of sudden attention, too many things to try and carry on your back like- like- a backpack.”  
  
  
Tommy lowers the can of Coke he’d been sipping and splutters.  
  
  
“A backpack?”  
  


Dream makes a quick laugh, as air-deprived and wheezy as ever, before confirming.   
  
  
“A backpack. Because when there’s too many things in your backpack, it’s too heavy and you slow down. And then you like- Break your back. It- It’s not the best analogy but it’s the best I can come up with, it’s 3 in the morning here and 8 for you. So don’t, just shut up.   
  
  
“But yeah, ‘too much’ feels like you’re going to break. And then you do.”   
  
  
Dream’s voice cracks and he clears it before continuing.   
  
  
“And you’re not able to pick up the problems that already fell on the floor because you’re on the floor too. And there’s still more weighing you down in your backpack, so you’re stuck.”   
  
  
Silence coils like a snake, ready to spring and snap. Tommy takes a shuddery breath and lets his minecraft character die to a spider, still waiting to see Dream’s discord icon to turn green once more.   
  
  
“Dream- You don’t have to talk anymore if you don’t want to.” He pulls his mic a little closer.   
  
  
Dream’s discord bubble flickers once, twice, and his voice fills Tommy’s ears once more.   
  
  
“Naw, I just needed a moment. So I was stuck, on the floor, right? It’s hard to pick yourself up. So I didn’t. But- I had- and have, friends that helped me. They picked up each problem and pointed out a way to make it better, and each time I wanted to cry because they made it seem so easy, and like I made it so hard on myself. But they were able to do that because they’re not me.   
  
  
“But after my friends finally picked me up, they- Tommy, friends won’t let you fall apart again. I’m- I think I’m reluctant to admit when I’m close to falling apart again, but-”   
  
  
Dream makes a wet laugh, and Tommy’s eyes sting.   
  
  
“Tommy, good friends will tape you together with their own hands if you let them. They take your backpack and they call you stupid for carrying it and then skip your ‘problems’ across pond with a splash.”   
  
  
Tommy finally focuses his eyes from the shuttered glow of the streetlights across his road hiding behind his closed blinds, and selects ‘Respawn’ with a click of his mouse. Dream’s green and white smiley face stands before his player when the world loads.  
  
  
“Tommy,” Dream says, a smile audible in his voice.   
  
  
“Tommy, let friends take off your stupid backpack and skip rocks, alright? Don’t wait to break.”   
  
  
A sword appears in Tommy’s toolbar and ‘ _Tommyinnit was given netherite_sword’_ appears in chat. He brings his hand up to the barely wet edge of his eyes and chuckles weakly.   
  
  
“Yeah, Big Man. Thanks.”   
  
  
Dream’s character jumps to life in front of him and shifts repeatedly.   
  
  
“It’s- No problem, Tommy.”   
  
  
Tommy then immediately swaps his empty hand to the sword and three-shots Dream, who lets out a splutter.   
  
  
“Tommy! What the fuck, man? We were having a moment and everything!”   
  
  
“Moment’s over, bitch.”   
  
  
Dream respawns and races away from Tommy, who nudges his coke to the side with one arm and laughs.   
  
  


* * *

  
Tommy watches as Wilbur turns his overhead light off and an Orange-hued lamp shines off his hair. Wilbur pulls a fluffy grey blanket from somewhere off camera and tugs it around himself before settling into his chair. His fingers tremble in anticipation.

“Where was I? Right, too much.”

Tommy shifts in his seat and watches Wilbur’s eyes flit across his screen before meeting the camera.

“Wilbur?” He hesitates to push.

“Yeah. Yeah, Tommyinnit, I- I like my projects. You know, I like my plans, my narratives, I like lists and sorting.”

Tommy feels his shoulders ease with every word from Wilbur’s lips, the familiar tone of the voice, just the same as he’d explain every point on anteaters’ detriments or an impossibly true experience Wilbur had.   
  
  
“Yeah,” He murmurs, and leans back from his tense position before the monitor.   
  
  
“And the thing is, Tommy, about my projects, is that I- I think I pour too much of myself in them. I get obsessed over them and- I- I bleed, for everything that I do. I go too much, too fast, too soon. I bleed myself dry by the end of something and when it’s done I just feel empty. I’m empty and I can’t do anything anymore, and I lay in bed and stay there for a few days.   
  
  
“And at the same time, if I’m not doing something, if I don’t have a plan or a project or just- something, then I feel like a waste of space. I don’t like that either. I’ve not had good times with those, and-” Wilbur winces a little and pulls one edge of the blanket ‘round his shoulder tighter. “So it’s- Tommy, it’s a balancing act. It was very easy to slip into a ‘too much’ when I was younger, I think.”   
  
  
Tommy glances at his room, walls slowly darkening with the fading sunlight. Still ever so shaky hands flick the switch to his yellow lamp and make him squint initially before his eyes adjust and he looks back at Wilbur’s image on his computer screen. Wilbur is staring at his own hands, hair flopping in front of his eyes again, and then he continues.   
  
  
“I don’t- Personally, Tommy, I don’t really stop myself from pouring myself into my ideas. Because then I’m still not satisfied and then I still am obsessed and it wouldn’t end. But the after part- that part, I try to manage myself with. The secret to trying not to be empty, I’ve found, is to _fuck_ ing cheat.”   
  
  
“Cheat.” Tommy deadpans.   
  
  
“Cheat.” Wilbur blinks up and smiles weakly at the camera. “Tommy, if I make myself bleed out and put all I have into the important things, I am going to half-arse everything else. I am going to leave the lights off when I walk around, and take ice-cold baths with my guitar and clothes still on, and I’m going to cut out all the hard parts of being a human. I’m not going to pretend to be all put together when I might be a bunch of shattered pottery. And then when I’m pulled taut like a string, I’m going to scream it out in a song, or cry for an hour or two. I’m not- I’m not- I’m not going to fake it.”   
  
  
Tommy bites his lips and stares at Wilbur’s half-embarrassed, half-defiant expression. He speaks and his voice rasps at first.   
  
  
“That- That sounds almost inspirational, Wilbur.”   
  
  
Wilbur snorts.   
  
  
“Thank you, Tommy.”   
  
  
Wilbur’s eyes crinkle at the edges where his smile pulls, and then his expression softens.   
  
  
“Tommy,” He says ever so softly. “I don’t think you’re going to have ‘too much’ for a very long while, personally. But- It’s smart of you to ask about these things, Toms. I wish I did. Maybe you should ask some of our other friends, you know?”   
  


Tommy’s throat clenches tight once more.   
  
  
“Yeah. Thanks, Wilby- Wilbur, I- Thank you. I didn’t mean to- Interrupt or be annoying or shit.”   
  
  
Across his pixelated face, Wilbur gives a brilliant smile.   
  
  
“Tommy, you’re not annoying, no matter what bit you pull. I love you, you know, right?”   
  
  
Tommy’s chest suddenly pools with warmth and whatever pit of dread he’d had for the past- However long it’s been settled there shifts and melts away, for now at least.   
  
  
“Yeah. I- Right back at you, you- Dickhead.”   
  
  
Wilbur’s smile curls into something more mischievous and he rests one elbow on his desk and head in hand.   
  
  
“Especially when you call me Wilby.”   
  
  
“You- You- I’m going to call you all the worst words I know, now, and you’ve brought this upon yourself. Prick, arsehole, dipshit, absolute moron and idiot, soft boy bitch-”   
  
  
Wilbur dissolves into laughter and Tommy into ranting, and when Tommy finally hangs up and flops onto his bed, heavy-limbed, his phone pings and a discord notification glitters on the top bar.   
  
  
Timedeo’s sent a _‘What’s up?’_   
  
  
Tommy sends back ‘ _Nothing much, not much at all. How about you?_ ’   
  
  
He’ll worry about Too Much when he gets to it. He rolls on his side and watches as the ellipses under Deo’s name jump.   
  
_  
_ _TimeDeo is typing..._

**Author's Note:**

> HI NOOR!!!! :D
> 
> i fucking struggled here :) tommyinnit pov + irl fic = ???? hee hoo??
> 
> it may be visible in the writing
> 
> ily
> 
> owo
> 
> ALSO HELLO IF UR NOT FROM WRITERS BLOCK THEN  JOIN WRITERS BLOCK DISCORD COME ON, DO IT, DO IT YEAAA BE MY FRIEND!!!
> 
>   
>   
>   
> https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm  
>   
>   
> 
> 
>   
>   
>   
> I WILL BE SO AFFECTIONATE AND EVERYONE TOSSES THEIR AU IDEAS INTO THE VOID AND MAKES IT A ANGST SOUP COME ON BUDDY GET IN HERE ALREADY  
>   
>   
> 


End file.
